The Years of Change
by Kat36
Summary: (Complete) An account of how my character, Hikaru, lived through the Revolution with the help of two men - her husband Toshiro, and the man she loves most, Seijuro Hiko
1. Kyoto

This short tale follows "Leaving" and was the second Hiko/Hikaru story I wrote (I couldn't have them stay mad at each other, could I?). It's undergone some revisions since I originally wrote it, but only minor ones. If you haven't read the other Hikaru stories ("Teahouse", "Sake, Tea, and Cherry Blossoms", and "The Lady and the Apprentice"), then you might want to, since this follows those. This will be the first of three that I'll be writing about Hikaru during the Revolution and just after. For Kenshin fans, sorry, he does not appear, although he is ever-present in Hikaru's and Hiko's thoughts.

I don't own Seijuro Hiko or Kenshin. All other characters are my own invention. Any historical inaccuracies are my own goofs.

Once more, my thanks to my readers, especially to those who take the time to review these stories. I always love reading what you have to say.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

The city was worse than Seijuro Hiko had imagined. The Ishin thought they were winning, the Shinsengumi believed they had the situation controlled, but the truth was that violence and lawlessness had grown like some kind of loathsome vine, winding its way along the streets, choking the life away from the citizens, one at a time or a dozen at a time. Swordsmen of both sides walked openly, arrogantly. He had been worried about Hikaru; now he began to fear.

No one bothered him, of course. He was watched with wariness, or speculation, depending on the man, but he wasn't approached. His very size and presence dismayed the less courageous, and the sword at his side warned away the more casually violent. The organized perpetrators of this horror, the Ishin and the Shogunate thugs, he avoided. He wasn't here to fight. He was here to reassure himself that Hikaru wasn't one of these victims.

He had been troubled about her safety for a long time now. He had other sources of information and ways of discovering facts, so he hadn't needed her visits to keep him abreast of the burgeoning revolution. But he missed her visits. After all, how else was he to know that she was well?

No, if he were going to be honest, that wasn't why he missed her visits. The truth was, he missed _seeing_ her, even if he could never touch her. He missed her soft, lovely voice and her presence in his home. He was not a sociable man, but with Kenshin gone and Hikaru never coming around these past weeks, he had grown somewhat lonely.

He still didn't believe he'd been wrong in anything he'd said to Hikaru, the last time they'd spoken. But he regretted being so hard on her. There were many things he said that he would like to take back again. Had he not been so disturbed by Kenshin's leaving, he would have been more careful with his words and not hurt her. He knew how much she loved the boy. Having him turn into a soldier in this ridiculous conflict was painful enough for her, without him adding to it with harsh words and blame, even if he were in the right. He had no intention of offering her any kind of apology, but if – he forced himself to face the possibility – if she were killed in this idiotic fighting, he would never be contented again, knowing they'd parted in anger. And she in tears! She so rarely wept. His huge fists clenched, and a pair of young men, going in the other direction, crossed the road to avoid getting near him. _If that husband of hers hasn't removed her from this city, I'll take her myself._ He had the right to do that, at least in his own mind. She'd been his long before she'd met Toshiro Kimiyama, and while she might love Kimiyama, a fact he'd long ago accepted, that love was tepid compared to the passion he knew was still there, deep inside her, for him. Normally he would never interfere, not with a marriage, not with a decision she had made for herself, but this was different. A fragile blossom like Hikaru had no place in a war. He was not going to take any chance of losing her.

Walking the streets of Kyoto now, he knew he'd been stupid. He'd waited too long. His stride lengthened.

He'd only been to the Kimiyama shop once before, many years ago, but he remembered where it was, and he didn't have the illusory hope that he might not be at the right place when he faced the broken gate drooping from a single hinge and the shattered door opening onto destruction. A few steps brought him onto the porch and into the shop. Poised and tense, he looked swiftly around, but, to his relief, the destruction had been confined to shelves, furniture, and hundreds of pieces of pottery. The mess was incredible, but there was no blood to be seen.

He strode through to the gardens, and checked, this time with an oath. To his left, the house was a gutted shell, torn apart, shreds of the rice paper walls flapping in the soft breeze, but that wasn't what had brought the curse to his lips. What was left of the gardens had done that. Whoever had been here, they seemed to have a positive grudge against beauty. Not content with destroying the work of the Kimiyama artists, they had taken a heavy hand to the gardens. The benches and bridges had been torn down and used for fuel to burn everything else the vandals could root out of the ground. The trees and bushes were hacked down and gone, the flowers crushed and scattered, and the little ponds fouled.

He squatted beside the largest of the ash piles and sifted through it with a charred stick from the edge, mourning the loss of so much beauty, but at the same time grateful that, among the ash and debris, he turned up no bones. Maybe Kimiyama had done the sensible thing and removed the household to the farm before all this happened. Maybe it happened because no one had been there to stop it. That thought would have to be his hope.

He rose and stood looking around, hands on his hips. He didn't want hope. He wanted Hikaru. He wanted to see her. He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to hear her voice and _know_ she was alive and well.

The sound of a step to his left brought him swiftly around, hand going to his sword only to drop immediately away. "Hikaru!"

She stood on the porch of the house, her hand on the shoulder of a little boy, and behind them stood the one-armed soldier who served her. Hikaru looked nothing like her usual self. Her hair was loosely bound and falling down from even that confinement, and her kimono, one of her plain gardening kimonos, was stained with mud at the knees and dusted with ash all about the hem. Her hands were dirty, and there was mud on her cheek and chin as well. But as far as he was concerned, he'd never seen her more beautiful.

She left the child with a touch and a smile, then came down the steps to him, one hand extended, her dark eyes full of sorrow. He didn't think about anything at all, certainly not about the tension that had been between them. He only responded to her pain. He grabbed her hand, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight. He hadn't touched her in almost ten years, but at that moment he didn't consider her slender suppleness, the small delicate bones under his hands, the softness of her cheek, or the familiar scent of her hair. He only thought that she was grieving, and he had to help her.

"Look what they've done, Seijuro," she mourned against his shoulder. She didn't put her arms around him, but her hands fisted in his shirt against his chest. "Look what they've done. And they killed Benkei and poor little Shioko. Why would anyone want to kill Shioko? She was just a little girl."

"I'm sorry."

She swallowed a sob. "I can rebuild the gardens, but nothing can bring them back."

"No. Nothing can. But, what are you doing here now? Why are you still in the city?" he demanded.

"We came back for Natsume. He's Benkei's son. I thought he might come here if something happened to his father, and he did. We're taking him back with us."

He hurt for her, knowing her soft heart was in pain, but in truth, neither of the other deaths mattered to him as long as she was still alive. He stroked her and soothed her, and at the same time soothed himself. Then he said, "Where is Kimiyama? He should have taken you out of this by now."

"I'm here, and I did," came Kimiyama's smooth, clear voice from the porch. He was holding the little boy's hand, and if he was upset at seeing his wife in Hiko's arms, it didn't show on his face. If anything, he looked grim, as if he were bearing up under his losses with nothing but his determination not to fail. "Except the shop goods, everything of value went to the farm three days ago, including Hikaru. That is why, I think, all of this," with a wave of his hand at the mess around them. "They thought to find wealth, and did not, so they grew angry."

Hiko nodded toward the shop. "They destroyed untold wealth, in there."

Kimiyama bowed an acceptance of the compliment. "We will create more. The important thing is that, except for Benkei and poor little Shioko, we were able to save everyone's lives. However, Hikaru insisted on returning with me today to find Natsume, and she was right to do so."

"You should not have allowed it."

"Seijuro." Hikaru had stepped away from him, if not entirely out from under his protecting arm. "Natsume is timid. Bunto told us that he'd hidden under the house. I knew Toshiro would never be able to coax him out. He will only come to me."

"He could have been dragged out."

"And add more fear to his life? Fear of us? Never." She moved away from him to take the boy from Kimiyama, picking him up, and the child held her so hard that Hiko was sure her delicate skin would be bruised later. "We're leaving now, so you needn't worry any more. We won't be back, I think, for a very long time." She looked around again, and her lips quivered. "You were right about all this. You and Toshiro both. The war didn't stay between the factions."

"Death to the innocent and destruction of the beautiful are the inevitable results of ideals gone out of control," he said, thinking of Kenshin now, too.

She knew his thought, for her eyes lifted to his, stricken and yet comforting at the same time. Her hand reached out and touched his arm, and in that single gesture, he knew she'd forgiven him. She smiled, a small and wavering smile, but still a smile. "You came down from your mountain just to check on me?"

"Don't feel too flattered. I would have done the same for any friend." Kenshin's name hung between them, so heavy it was almost visible. To banish it, he said, "I'll go with you as far as the third bridge."

"We'll welcome your protection," Kimiyama said.


	2. Toshiro, part 1

This two-part story takes place shortly after "Kyoto," and by the end of it, Hikaru will have to come to terms with Kenshin becoming the assassin Hitokiri Battousai. I actually wrote this because I'd become fond of Toshiro Kimiyama and felt that good man deserved some of my words, and also because, until I did, I couldn't really see into Hikaru's divided heart. So I suppose you could call this story a shameless self-indulgence.

I don't own Seijuro Hiko or Kenshin, and Kogoro Katsura is an actual historical figure. All other characters are my own invention. Any inaccuracies are, as usual, my own goofs.

Once more, my thanks to my readers and reviewers. Hikaru has been better-received than I thought she would!

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

"Hikaru-san! Hikaru-san!" The high voice piped through the yard, excited.

Hikaru turned and caught the child as she hurtled into her arms. "Izumi! Where have you been? I've been worried."

"I was talking to a man. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

Hikaru rose, holding the warm little body against her breast. Too thin – the child was too thin. They all were. "I thought I told you never to talk to strange men!" she scolded. "Remember what happened to Kimiko?"

The voice was small now. "She went away and never came back."

"Yes. That's what she did." The pain was still fresh to Hikaru, even after so many weeks. Kimiko had been 14 and headstrong, and one day had wandered too far and met the wrong men. Toshiro and Bunto had buried her, but to the children, Kimiko had just "gone away." She hoped none of them would ever have to learn differently. "I told you back then, that's what happens to someone who talks to strange men. Why didn't you listen? You are very lucky to be here with us again," she said, hugging Izumi tightly.

"I wouldn't, but I thought he was an angel. Are we going to the kitchen?"

"Yes, but only to wash you, not to eat."

"Oh."

"Such disappointment! No one else is eating, either. Is that all you think about, your belly? So tell me, why did you think this man was an angel?"

"He had a white cape. And he was as tall as a house. So I thought he was an angel."

Hikaru's step faltered. What was Seijuro Hiko doing, talking to one of her children? Then the description struck her, and she started to laugh. "That was no angel!"

"I know. He said he wasn't. He said he was just a man."

"What else did he say?"

"I didn't tell him where we were, Hikaru-san! He already knew."

"It's all right, don't be afraid. You don't have to keep our secret from that man. He's a friend."

The child relaxed. "I didn't want to be bad."

Five years old, and already so frightened. How could a child be expected to understand this revolution? Hikaru didn't understand it herself. She set Izumi on the floor, poured water into a dish, and took up a clean rag to wash her. At least water wasn't a problem. "You aren't bad. What did the man want to know?"

"Lots of things."

"Like what?"

Izumi twisted her face away from the cloth, and Hikaru caught her chin and brought it back. "Stop that. If you are going to play in the dirt, you have to be washed. What did the man want to know about?"

"Us."

"That must have been a nice long chat."

Izumi considered that, her tiny face scrunched in thought. "No," she finally decided.

Hikaru tried another tack. "What did you tell him about us? No, don't worry! I told you, he's a friend, you don't have to be afraid."

Reassured, the child said, "I told him how we slept, and where we get water. And what we had for dinner last night."

Rice. Nothing but rice, and lucky to have it. "Did he want to join us tonight, then?" she teased.

Izumi giggled. "I don't think so. He made a face when I told him, as if he didn't like rice."

"Maybe he doesn't. Give me your hands. Ah, they're hopeless. Go play, but stay in the yard this time."

"Yes, Hikaru-san!"

Hikaru followed her to the door and watched her scamper across the yard to join the other children. Probably to tell them about her "angel." The thought of Seijuro being described by that term, and what he must have thought of it, made Hikaru giggle. Then, sobering, she stared out past the dirt yard and the straw-roofed huts to the clean slopes of the mountain. He was out there somewhere, and just for a moment she yearned with all her heart to be with him, to put down all the burdens of her life and, just for once, do only what her heart desired.

But she was too much a creature of her upbringing be so free and irresponsible. She had married Toshiro Kimiyama with her eyes open, and she had made a pledge to him. Her nature wouldn't allow her to go back on that pledge, no matter what she secretly desired. Nor could she leave the people here at the farm – the servants, artists, and employees, and their families – who trusted Toshiro for their safety and her for everything else. She'd assumed the burdens, and, in truth, they were a joy to her in many ways. If that joy paled in comparison to what she had known when with Seijuro, the lack was more than justified by the knowledge that she was helping many people instead of just one.

She was a lucky woman. She had a good husband, and a good life. Of all the things she'd ever wanted in her life, only two had been denied her. A child of her own, she could never have, it seemed. As for Seijuro... She smiled. Maybe they were unable to be together as she wished, but that was her own doing, so she shouldn't complain. And her arrogant angel was still guarding her. No matter how foolish she was, he remained true. What Fate had taken away with one hand, it had given her more with the other.

Still...

She looked across the yard to where Okichi watched her husband, Sumio, painting a pattern of plum blossoms on a bowl, the intricate work and delicate artist's tools a stark contrast to the dirt under the blanket Okichi had spread for him and the empty pigsty against which he rested his back. Okichi was seven months' pregnant with their first child, and the box of paints she held in her lap was almost crowded out by her swollen stomach. Hikaru remembered Okichi playfully saying once how much she envied the glamour of Hikaru's former geisha life and her social status as Madame Kimiyama. _Wouldn't the girl be shocked,_ Hikaru thought, _if she knew I'd trade places with her any time._ But that hadn't been her fate, and all she could do was work with what she'd been given and try not to regret the rest.

She smiled again. No woman who loved Seijuro Hiko could expect a life of peaceful domesticity, no matter what the circumstances, and not even for Okichi's present happiness would she have traded any moment she'd spent with Seijuro. Regret was something she constantly struggled with, but she always won the battle, because she was always able to find more good in her life than she deserved.

One of those good things was trudging up the road toward her now. Her husband, Toshiro, made a trip into Kyoto every week, alone or with what men could be spared from the farm work. He left laden with errands and returned laden with what he could find and bring back – letters and tokens from relatives of those hiding here, food, tools, artists' supplies, or whatever else they needed. Today, Hikaru was hoping for something special, and she went through the house and out into the road to meet him. He looked so tired that she embraced him before asking, "Were you able to get the medicine for Kakuei?"

"Yes, love. But not very much, I'm afraid."

"It will have to do. He's strong, even a little will help him. Come inside and sit down. I'll make you tea, and then take the medicine to him. You look exhausted. Would you rather have sake?"

He smiled as he sat. "Stop fussing. I'm fine. Sake."

She poured, then put water on to heat for the medicine. "How was the city? Does the fighting still go on?"

"Yes. I don't think this is something that will be quickly settled. There is so much hatred." He sighed. "We may be here for some time. But as bad as it is here, the city would be worse. It seems peaceful, but it's still chaotic and lawless, especially at night. Those who are supposed to protect the peace continue to fight each other instead. We would still be running a risk if we went back, one that's unacceptable to me. At least we're relatively safe here, and, as little as we get to eat, it's still more than some I've met." He added ruefully, "I did have some beans in that pack you are so diligently rummaging through, but they're gone now."

She looked up with a smile, extracting the tiny envelope of medicine she'd found. "This is what I wanted. Who did you give the beans to?"

"Kakuei's grandmother. It was she who got the medicine, and while I was there to pick it up, I discovered from a neighbor that she hadn't eaten in days. She's a tough old woman, Hikaru, she never gave me a hint. So I went back and gave her all I had. We at least have rice."

She rose and kissed his cheek. "That's why I love you." She knelt by the fire and carefully opened the envelope, then even more carefully poured and stirred the contents into the pot of water. Kakuei's grandmother had probably traded her food for this, and she, Hikaru, would not let a single particle of it go to waste.

Behind her, Toshiro set down his sake cup and said, "Do you want some news about Kenshin?"

Her hand slowed. _No, I don't. Not really. Don't tell me._ But she continued stirring and said calmly, "Yes, of course. Is he still alive?" Which was all she really wanted to know.

"Yes, still alive, and apparently doing very well. I talked to an officer today, and according to him, Kenshin's skill has been noticed and he was pulled from the ranks. Some sort of special duty for Kogoro Katsura. Very impressive. The officer seemed in awe of your red-haired child."

_He's not my red-haired child any more. _She concentrated on stirring and said, "Seijuro taught him well." _He just taught him the wrong things, damn him._

"I guess he did," Toshiro agreed, "for the boy to have survived so long in that maelstrom. I don't think you have to worry about him too much."

"I don't," she lied. "Let me take this to Kakuei, and then I'll come back and have some of that sake with you, if you haven't drunk it all up."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Toshiro didn't sleep well, and hadn't for a long time. He'd always abhorred violence, and was an outcast from his noble family because he'd chosen the life of an artist rather than that of a samurai. His trips into Kyoto were an agony to him. He had seen sights his eyes would never forget, and each time he went, thinking it couldn't be worse, he saw more. Branded in his mind was a particular image from one of his early trips, when he'd turned up a street that had been a battleground the night before. Most of the carnage had been cleared away, but off to one side was a man's forearm and hand, the fingers still wrapped around the hilt of a broken sword. The rest of the man was nowhere in sight. All that remained was the hand and the weapon, and a congealed pool of blood. To Toshiro, that represented all of this futile violence, and he loathed it.

Hikaru was his solace. Returning to her, he was always reminded that violence was an exception in life, and that love was more common than hate and beauty was found in many places. He never shared what he saw with her, beyond the bare minimum she needed to know. As much as humanly possible, he wanted her left untouched, unsoiled by this war. Then he could come home, hold her, look into her clear dark eyes, listen to her voice, and forget what he had seen, at least for a little while.

He was lying awake at dawn the next morning, staring at the ceiling, when the sound of gleeful laughter in the yard woke Hikaru. "What…?" she murmured sleepily.

"I don't know, love. I'll go check."

She sat up with him, rubbing her eyes. "I will, too. Laughter sounds so fresh and good. I want to see what's causing it."

He helped her into a robe and tied back her hair for her, because her maid was pregnant and Hikaru insisted she not have duties. Toshiro suspected that simple envy was more the problem, but he didn't mind performing some of Okichi's tasks, even if he felt clumsy doing them. His own clumsiness amused him. He could handle porcelain so fine that the light would shine through it, and handle it with ease, but he seemed to grow extra thumbs when winding a ribbon around his wife's long hair.

Decently robed, they started outside, only to be met at the kitchen door by two servants coming in, carrying a pole with a deer carcass strung on it. The carcass had been blooded and neatly field-dressed. An entire parade of others followed them, pointing and calling out the news. Everyone was excited.

Hikaru called them all to order, sent them about their duties, and directed the servants where to place the deer. One of them remarked as he put his end down, "We found this at the inner gate, Hikaru-san, just as you see it. It's heavy. We can make it stretch for a week, if we're careful. Maybe more."

"I think I'd rather have a feast. Wouldn't you?"

His eyes lit, but he said, "We should ration it."

"I think we should trust the spirits and our unknown benefactor to provide us more. If not, we still have rice for the future, and in the meantime, we will have had our feast. Tell everyone, and let them know I'll need help butchering and preparing it."

They bowed and left to do her bidding. Standing at the door, watching them run, seeing their joy at the simple pleasure of a full meal, Toshiro felt a moment of pure hatred for the man who'd provided it. He'd heard about Izumi's "angel," so he had no doubt Seijuro Hiko had decided, in his arrogant way, that Hikaru wasn't getting enough to eat, and therefore had brought her food. That he was right didn't help Toshiro accept it any better. In fact, it made it worse, because it aggravated the jealousy that he was continually trying to purge from himself. While the years had brought him an acceptance of Hikaru's friendship with Hiko, he still felt the man's presence as an irritant, like having an oversized vulture hanging about the fringes of his marriage, waiting for bits to scavenge. He felt that presence worst at times like this, when Hiko made him feel small and weak.

The darkness of that sudden surge of hatred shook him, and he turned away from it, looking over his shoulder at Hikaru and saying, forcing amusement into his voice, "I think I know who we have to thank for this."

"Certainly, and it was very kind of him," she said, so casually that her tone was at once a balm to his spirit and an added twinge of guilt. "I think Izumi gave him the idea, however. Still, now that he has it, I suspect we'll eat better."

He couldn't help saying, "He wants to take care of you."

Startled by his tone, she looked up from the spices she'd been selecting and met his eyes. "Yes, I suppose he does, and this is the best he can do."

Now he felt even more guilty. He could easily turn his envy around and picture himself as Seijuro Hiko, unable to be with Hikaru now, and able to provide her with nothing except a meal. In a sudden spirit of repentance, he came back into the kitchen and said, "He's been doing more than just this, love."

"Has he?"

He drew a breath. Justice demanded he tell her, and only base envy clamored against it. "Yes. He's also been protecting us. Bunto and I never told you, but we did not bury Kimiko. She was already buried when we found her. The grave we dug was for the men who killed her. Since then, there have been others, too, we've found dead. He is keeping you safe as well as fed."

After almost ten years of marriage, she could still surprise him. She was neither touched nor impressed. She only said, "I'm not surprised. I thought that might be the case. It's what he does best, after all." She searched his face, then reached up to touch his cheek. "Toshiro, let him do it and be grateful to him."

"I can't be grateful. I know I should be, but that's asking too much, Hikaru. From anyone else, I would, but not from him." He hadn't meant to say it, but he had, and he knew how bitter he'd sounded by the expression on her face.

Then she asked him something strange. "Toshiro, what will you do when this war is over?"

"Do?"

"Yes. What will you do?"

Thrown off stride, he thought a moment. "Open the shop, of course. Rebuild. We have many willing hands, so it shouldn't be hard. Get the artists back to the kilns." At her smile, he put his arms around her. "Put you back in your proper setting."

"I'm in a perfectly good setting, right here."

"You didn't think so, on that first day, when you tried to work in the fields with the girls."

"Oh, unfair. I'm not used to it. I did try. But I'm better now, doing what I can, watching the children during the day, and cooking."

"And keeping the rest of us happy." His ridiculous wife – he remembered how he'd laughed when they'd first started moving things to safety here, long before the fighting had broken out, and she'd insisted on sending a box of her kimonos with every cartload. They were one of a kind, she insisted, as much pieces of art as the apprentice masterpieces he was preserving. Yet on the most recent festival day, which they couldn't celebrate in the city, she'd casually handed out those precious kimonos to every woman on the farm, theirs to wear for the entire festival day, treating the men and children to a show of color and beauty, and reminding the women they were more than toilers in the fields and cleaners of floors. The good mood had lasted for days afterward.

She said, "You've taken me off the subject."

"I hate that subject anyway," he reminded her fondly.

"I don't mean Seijuro. I mean what you will do when the war is over. You don't see it yet, do you?"

"No. See what?"

"How foolish you are to compare yourself to Seijuro. When danger came, you gave us all a place to flee from it. And when the danger is gone, you will again give us all a place to go. Seijuro can give us food, and he can give us safety. But you, Toshiro… you give us the belief that life will go on, that it will someday be normal again. You give us _hope_."

"Oh." After a blank second, he said, "I guess I'm a hell of a fellow, aren't I?"

She laughed. "Yes, you are. Now let me go. I can hear some volunteers coming our way, and I want to get started on our feast!"

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

That night, after the feast, with a full stomach, plenty of sake, and all his dependents happy, Toshiro slept well and deeply for the first time in many nights. He fell asleep with his head in Hikaru's lap, and, smiling fondly, she sat with one hand on his waist and the other in his hair, guarding his sleep from interruption and discomfort. When she was sure he wouldn't waken, she slipped a pillow under his head, covered him lightly against the evening chill, and rose to go out and thank Seijuro.

That he was out there, somewhere, she didn't doubt. He would expect her to come to him as soon as she could, and he would wait until she did. If he didn't see her come out tonight, then it would be tomorrow or the next day, but he would wait. She dressed in one of her favorite kimonos, a white one with koi swimming up and down its folds, outlined in gold thread. She left the obi, however, and tied it with only a gold tasseled cord. Her hair was down, and she realized it was starting to drag on the ground again. She'd have to get Okichi to cut it for her tomorrow. For tonight, she just twisted it quickly into a double knot caught with a jade comb, so that it hung only to her waist, out of her way. Then she slipped her bare feet into gold zori. It was dark outside, lit only by a dim half-moon, and Seijuro didn't really care what she looked like anyway, but her geisha habits remained strong. She might go outside casually dressed, but not completely unadorned.

As soon as she passed the inner gate she saw him, sitting on the farm's low stone perimeter wall, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Her shoulders dropped back, her chin rose, and her back straightened. With every stride toward him, she could almost feel the cares of the farm falling away from her, and she began to be a woman again, simply a woman, and not a wife or provider or judge or mother or anything else. That was Seijuro's most precious gift to her, worth more to her spirit than any number of deer to her stomach. With him, there were no burdens, no duties, no façade to maintain or weakness to conceal. She could just be herself, no matter what her "self" was at that moment, and by the time she reached him, she was almost dancing, so light were her steps.

He flicked his cloak out to protect her kimono from the dirt as she sat next to him. She was close enough to feel his warmth and hear him breathe, but they didn't touch. That had been his promise to Toshiro, and except for one time in Kyoto, in the ruins of her gardens, they had both been true to it. "Thank you for the deer," she said. "You made a lot of people happy."

"Did you eat any? Or did you give it all to the children?"

"I ate plenty. I knew you would ask, and I didn't dare do otherwise," she teased, and saw his smile flicker.

Then he looked closer at her and scowled. "What are you crying about?"

She brushed her wet cheeks with her hand. "I've _missed_ you. I haven't seen you for weeks."

"Oh. Then why are you crying? I'd think you would be happy."

"I am happy. I'm very happy."

"Then if you want to make _me _happy, stop doing that. How soon will you need meat again?"

She didn't bother making the usual polite protests. They were wasted on him, like most other social courtesies. "The day after tomorrow." He nodded, and she laughed. "Aren't you even going to ask why so soon?"

"The most probable reason isn't beyond my intelligence to guess. You and Kimiyama have a refugee camp on your hands, and you've become very short of food. I imagine that spirits fall with the food supply, so you held a feast to cheer everyone up, assuming that I would be able and willing to bring you more meat later."

"Can you?"

"Yes, of course. You were an idiot not to tell me you were in need. That little girl told me you've been existing on nothing but rice."

"But it's _good_ rice. We have plenty of herbs and spices." When he scowled at her, she laughed. She couldn't help it. Her heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. "Seijuro, how was I to reach you?"

"I can think of at least three different ways."

"Ah, but you're the genius. I'm just a simple woman."

He snorted.

She had to resist the urge to rub her cheek on his shoulder, as she often used to do when particularly pleased with him. "I've burdened you enough in these past years," she said softly. "I didn't want to ask for more."

"You burden me more heavily by not asking and forcing me to guess," he growled.

"And forcing you to talk to children," she said with a giggle.

His mouth curved, just a little. "That, too."

"I'm not going to ask now, either. Then you'll feel compelled. I'll just tell you that we have almost 30 people with us now, and feeding them all is stretching the ability of our men. The salt fish and dried foods are gone. There are so many more of us than I anticipated," she sighed.

"Sometimes generosity creates more than just a good feeling. Sometimes it creates need."

"Yes, but we can't turn them away. Who would we say no to? Where do we draw the line? The artists? The servants who have been faithful to us for so many years? Their families?"

"You and Kimiyama are a pair. You have no concept of drawing lines. You have enough rice, at least?"

"We have all the rice we need, as long as the crops don't fail, and soon our vegetables will be in. But secrecy prevents us from fishing often, and the rivers are almost bare of fish now anyway, so many people are homeless and hungry. If you've been to the city, you know that mere money won't get you anything. So whatever you can give us, I will gladly take. If you give us an abundance, I'll see to it that it's shared with our families in the city as well."

"There won't be an abundance. I'm not the only hunter out there."

"Are you in danger?"

"Hikaru," he growled, "how many times do I have to tell you how rare it is for a Hiten Mitsurugi master to be in any danger? Do you think swinging a sword is all I know? Are my senses dull?"

When he took that tone, the best thing was to ignore it. "I worry anyway. Are you lonely?"

"No."

Like a surly little boy. She had to smile. "The children want to do something for Izumi's angel, you know," she said, and giggled.

"I thought I disabused her mind of that ridiculous idea."

"Not really."

"Well, tell them if they want to do something for me, they should obey you and not waste any of what I bring them."

She chuckled. "You ask for so little."

"Everything I want from you, I already have. Your children can give me nothing that would be of use to me, except happiness for you."

He always said things like that so matter-of-factly, unaware of how he took her breath away. "I love you, Seijuro," she said fondly. He made a noncommittal grunt and didn't look at her, but his mouth curved. For a moment she just sat there, pleased to be quiet with him. Then she remembered, reluctantly, the other subject she wanted to take up with him. "Toshiro tells me that Kenshin has been pulled from the ranks by Kogoro Katsura. Is this a good thing? Will it keep him out of danger?" She braced herself for the answer. One of the best things about Seijuro, and at the same time one of the worst, was that he did not lie to her. Not even when he knew she would be hurt by the answer.

"Nothing will keep Kenshin out of danger except the end of this ridiculous war. And maybe not even that. But being pulled from the common ranks should lessen his immediate peril, yes."

"Why do you think Katsura wants him? I'm sure it's for his skill, but what do you think he plans to do with it?" The obvious answer was not one she wanted to think about. She couldn't imagine that, even for his precious Revolution, Katsura was cold enough to make an assassin out of a mere boy. Being a sophisticated woman, she could think of other, even less palatable reasons for Katsura's attention, but she wasn't even going to consider those.

Seijuro's words soothed her. "I don't know, and I'm not guessing ahead of the facts. He may just be creating a personal guard. He will certainly be needing one. There have already been threats against his life."

She let out her breath. Stupid of her not to think of that. This war made her think the worst of everyone. "Of course, that must be it." For a few minutes she said nothing, content to sit in his presence. But she couldn't stop thinking of Kenshin. "Do you ever see him?"

"No. I don't go to Kyoto."

"Oh." Naturally he didn't. She was being foolish, and would disgust him soon. But she couldn't stop. "Do you miss him?"

"No."

"Liar," she smiled.

"My life is infinitely more peaceful without him. If he gets killed in this war, he'll put me to the inconvenience of finding another apprentice, but at the moment, I am enjoying the freedom from his eternal chatter."

"If I didn't know you better, that would make me very angry."

"I'm speaking the truth."

"But not all of it." She rose to face him. "When will I see you again?"

"Whenever you want. Some of these people you shelter are servants who know where I live. Send a message. Or tie one of your scarves to the gate, and I'll come as soon as I see it. I'll never be far away."

She sighed. Just those five words made her feel good inside. Confident and free once again. "I wish you could do as much for Kenshin as you do for me."

"I _would_ wish that you would stop talking about him, but I never hope for the impossible."

"Try to watch out for him?"

"There's little I can do."

"Do what you can. Don't worry about me, Seijuro. I'm better able to take care of myself than our boy is." He snorted, and she laughed. "Very well, I appreciate your help and protection. And I thank you, and I love you. Good night, my dear. Sleep well."

"You, too."


	3. Toshiro, part 2

As often happens when I do a character vignette, especially one which involves strong emotions, the characters surprise me. I discovered some naivete in Hikaru that I never suspected, and that there is at least one act of kindness which Toshiro will not do, even to please _her._

This will be followed by one more vignette, which will deal with Toshiro's death and how Hikaru goes back to Hiko, this time for good. For those of you who are kind enough to read an RK story with only one RK character in it, and him only a little... thank you, and may blessings be upon you!

To Karen: Thanks for coming by and reviewing! It's great to see you here.

To Koorinoen: I actually have begun Hikaru's story in the time of the Kyoto Arc. I wasn't going to put it here because it involves an original character belonging to a good friend, but she's given me permission. So those of you who like Hikaru enough to want to see her and Kenshin reunited, I will get there.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

A breeze brushed across Toshiro Kimiyama's sweat-damp cheeks, and dust balls skittered along the road as if they were small animals running before him. He was grateful for the short relief. The trip back to the farm from Kyoto was always long, and as heavy-laden as he was this time, and alone, it seemed to be taking forever. Still, he enjoyed the sunlight, which sparkled on the surface of the streams and made all the colors of field and forest seem newly invented. Armies had marched on the main roads, leaving waste and ugliness behind them, but no stain of war had yet touched the narrow paths that he was taking. These back roads were hilly and hard going, but safe, and the pack which made his steps so weary was full of good things for Hikaru and all their people.

As Hikaru said, there was no evil without good to balance it.

He smiled, as he often did when thinking of his wife, and shifted the pack so that it rested more easily on his shoulders. He would have liked to stop for another break, but he wanted to get home even more. He could rest there, with Hikaru to fuss over him, make him a bath, and give him tea, if nothing more. One of the many ironies of this war was that tea and luxury items such as her cooking spices were available in plenty, but little real food could be found to eat with them. And little sake, either. Food and sake were two things the armies demanded.

Ahead of him, at the side of the road, he saw a man waiting, lounging against the boulders which walled a small shrine. He tensed, but if the man meant him harm, there was little he could do. He'd already been seen, and he had no weapon. That he refused to carry one in these bad times was a point of contention with Bunto and some of the other men, but Hikaru understood – as she said, it would hurt him more to kill than to be killed. However, Toshiro relaxed when the man straightened and stepped into the road to meet him. Only one man in his experience, perhaps in all of Japan, stood so tall and broad, or wore a white cape with ridiculously high red wings at the collar. Seijuro Hiko would never harm him.

But Toshiro's brow furrowed in concern anyway. Neither would Seijuro Hiko voluntarily speak to him. Something must be terribly wrong. As he came closer, he opened his mouth to say his words of worry, but as usual, Hiko was one step ahead of him. "There's nothing wrong with Hikaru or the farm, Kimiyama," he said in his flat, deep voice. "But I want to speak with you about something which concerns her."

For a moment Toshiro was confused and still worried. Seijuro Hiko was the only shadow on his marriage, and his imagination went wild on the subject of what the man wanted to say concerning Hikaru. But by the time he set his pack on the ground and straightened again, he thought he knew. "Is it about Kenshin?"

Hiko's scowl was his response.

Toshiro felt a moment of panic. "He's not dead, is he?"

"No. But perhaps worse."

"There is nothing worse than dead."

"You've led a sheltered life, if you believe that."

Toshiro crossed his arms on his chest. He was not going to bandy words with this man. Hiko irritated him in many ways, not the least of which was that he had to look up so far to speak to him. "What is it? Has something happened to the boy?"

Hiko answered his question with another. "You've heard of the recent series of assassinations in Kyoto?"

"The so-called 'assassin from the shadows'? The one they're calling the Manslayer? Yes, of course."

"Have you told Hikaru?"

"No, but others have talked about it in her hearing. I've simply said that rumor can make one murder into twenty, and tried to make her forget it."

"But you know better. Or do you?"

He didn't understand why Seijuro Hiko wanted to exchange gossip with him, but he replied anyway. "I know very little, really. According to Bunto's sources, at least fifty confirmed kills can be credited to this one man, yet no can guess who he is. Apparently his sword style is so unique, no one has been able to identify it to even get a clue." Suddenly, Toshiro put it all together – Hiko's grim expression, his asking about Hikaru's knowledge, the unique sword style. "Are you trying to tell me it might be _Kenshin?"_

"I'm telling you that it _is_ Kenshin," Hiko said bluntly. "The assassin's sword style is known to me, even if to no one else. He's using the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. There are only two men living who know those techniques, myself and Kenshin. No others."

Toshiro's arms dropped to his sides. "You're sure of this? You're sure it was the Hiten Mitsurugi?"

"I've seen some of the victims. Do you not know the shape of your own pottery? Even in the dark? I have no doubt. It's Kenshin."

Toshiro sat on his pack, stunned. "I don't want to believe this," he admitted. "Not that child."

"We don't have the luxury of deluding ourselves about it," Hiko snapped. "Neither of us. I despair of ever convincing Hikaru that Kenshin is not a little boy, but I expect a more rational view from you. You can't be so naive that you believe a man of Kenshin's age will not murder."

"His age has nothing to do with it. I'm thinking of his heart, his spirit. He does not have the soul of an assassin."

"He's a simpleton, younger in mind even than his years, and his ideals are pure. A cynical and clever man could easily warp those ideals and make him believe that a few deaths, rightly done, would serve the greater good for the most people. Convinced of that, he would sacrifice his own soul, thinking he was saving others."

Toshiro shook his head. Although he believed Hiko, he was willing to grasp at any chance he could be wrong. "This assassin is supposedly skilled in more than just the sword. Could Kenshin manage all that he is said to be doing?"

"I can tell you as a fact that, even with his training incomplete, he is more than capable of accomplishing all of it."

"You've made him into a wolf, a boy without mercy."

He was appalled that the words had left his mouth, but Hiko's expression didn't change. "Another delusion that you and Hikaru share," he said. "I taught him to kill. I did not teach him to be an assassin."

"I know that. Truly." His tone was an apology.

"You have no need to be embarrassed. That opinion is common with those who don't understand the principles of the Hiten Mitsurugi. Which is nearly everyone, including my apprentice. And also, naturally, your thoughts are colored by Hikaru's."

The man made it impossible to like him, no matter how hard one tried. "You must be disappointed in him."

One of Hiko's brows rose. "I am. As a master of apprentices yourself, I am sure you can imagine how much. But my feelings are not what I wished to discuss. I'm more concerned with Hikaru's."

"This must be kept from her."

"Don't be an ass. Have you lived with her this long and come to know her so little? She's extremely intelligent. She probably already suspects, but refuses to acknowledge it even to herself. However, some day, probably soon, she'll hear something that even she can't ignore." For the first time, his expression changed. It was still unreadable, but different. "This is not something she should have to guess about, or hear from strangers. I don't need to explain that to you. Now that I am positive of the truth of it, one of us must tell her right away."

"She'll...." He didn't even want to contemplate how she would react to the news. "She'll be upset," he said finally, in a strangled voice.

Hiko's expression changed again, but this time it registered recognizable sympathy. "I don't envy you. I will break the news to her, if you wish. As you say, it is partly my responsibility that this situation exists."

Toshiro sat for a moment, his head in his hands, fighting the temptation to take Hiko up on the offer. "No," he said at last. "I'm her husband. I will tell her."

Hiko nodded. "You aren't a coward, I'll give you that. One piece of advice, if you want it. She will be angry, and she will blame me. Let her. Don't try to be fair or to talk reason to her. She'll need _someone_ to blame, and it won't hurt me. Just keep her at the farm and far from Katsura's people until she's learned to accept it, or at least to keep silent about it. I don't think Kenshin is so far gone that he would hurt her, but Katsura has other assassins to protect his reputation."

He looked up, wide-eyed, and saw that Hiko was completely serious. "Thank you. That's good advice."

"I don't give bad advice." He tossed his cape back. "I know I don't have to tell you how to break it to her. You'll do it as well as anyone can. Good luck, Kimiyama."

Left alone, Toshiro sat for a long time, trying to think of some way to tell this news without breaking his wife's heart. He finally came to the conclusion that there _was_ no way. With a sigh, he hefted the pack back onto his shoulders and turned his steps toward home again.

Hikaru met him at the gate, full of concern, gesturing a servant out to relieve him of the pack even as she spoke. "Toshiro! You look exhausted. Come inside and let me get some well water to cool you."

_Get it over with now. Quickly. Like cauterizing a wound, it's best done at once, before you can think about it and dread it._ "We have to talk, Hikaru."

"Yes, but you can cool yourself while we do it."

"No. Now. At once. Come with me to the orchard. This must be strictly between us, no one else."

Her brow creased, but she asked no more questions. She gave the servant instructions about the pack, then tucked her hand in his arm and went with him. As they got deep enough into the neat rows of trees that they wouldn't be observed from the farm yard, he leaned and brushed her temple with his lips.

"This is bad news, isn't it?" she said in a small voice.

"Very bad. Do you want to sit down?"

She shook her head, turning to face him. "Just tell me." Then, as if wanting to delay it, she said, "What is it about? The war?"

"Indirectly. It's about Kenshin."

Her face, always pale, went bone-white. She reached for him, her fingernails digging into his arm. "He's not dead?"

"No."

She loosened her grip, then let him go. "Hurt? He's been wounded? He's ill? I can go to him. I can..." Her eyes got larger and darker. "That's not it either, is it?"

"No, nothing like that. He's taken no hurt. Hikaru, before I tell you this, let me say that I got it from Seijuro Hiko, so I know it's the truth."

"You spoke to Seijuro today?"

"He spoke to me. He wanted to tell me about Kenshin, so that you would know."

Her eyes never moved from his face. She folded her hands, as she did when serene, but her fingers gripped each other so hard that her knuckles stood out sharply. "Tell you what about Kenshin? What is wrong with him?"

Now the moment was here, and he still didn't know what to say. "You know that assassin that people have been gossiping about. The so-called Manslayer."

That was as far as he got. As Hiko said, Hikaru was an intelligent woman. "No," she said savagely. "You are not going to tell me that man is Kenshin. It's not possible."

"It is Kenshin, love. I'm sorry, but it is."

"You're wrong. Seijuro's wrong. Kenshin would _never_ kill like that. Never!"

"I wish I believed Hiko was wrong about this. Or even in some doubt."

"No one's seen this mystery assassin," she said scornfully. "Has Seijuro?"

He shook his head. "But the assassin is using the Hiten Mitsurugi style. _That _is what Hiko knows to be true."

"No. He's mistaken."

He took her arms in his hands, steadying her. She was denying what she was hearing, but the effort of doing so had her swaying like a lily. "You know the man better than anyone. Have you ever known him to be mistaken about his own sword style?"

"He must be," she whispered.

"He is certain. And he says it can be no one else, that no one else knows the techniques."

"How can he be so sure? Gossip can make anything seem real."

"He's seen some of the victims."

"No."

"It's true, love. I'm sorry. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

She sank, slowly, all the way to the ground. He followed her down, careful of her, but her eyes weren't seeing him now. "This can't be. Not Kenshin. _Not Kenshin._ He wouldn't kill like that, like a thief, stealing lives. He isn't like that. Toshiro, you know he isn't!" she said, gripping his arm again.

"Had anyone else told me this – anyone – I would agree with you. But it was Seijuro Hiko. I can imagine what it cost him to admit it to me, that his apprentice had gone so far from his teachings. Which is why I believe him."

"His teachings!" she said, throwing off his hands. "Kenshin hasn't strayed from Seijuro's teachings. Seijuro taught him to kill. Now you're telling me he's whining because Kenshin's practicing that trade?"

This was so unfair that Toshiro actually began to say something in Hiko's defense. Then he remembered the sensei's advice and kept silent. Hikaru pulled away from him and leaped to her feet, pacing like an enraged tiger. Knowing she was using anger to keep her grief at bay, he rose slowly and watched her, making no attempt to intervene.

"Damn him!" she was saying. "How dare he complain about Kenshin? He put a sword in that child's hands. I told him how it would be. He knew. How many times have I heard him say it? A sword is nothing but a weapon meant to take the lives of humans. Kenshin was a good apprentice. And now he's..." As abruptly as it had come, her anger left. She turned to him, the expression in her eyes like that of a person who's been told of the death of someone beloved. "Toshiro. It can't be true. Tell me there's some doubt."

He swallowed. "You know Seijuro Hiko better than I. He says he believes it. Could he be wrong?"

She fought with it. He watched, hurting for her, as the expressions moved across her face. She was normally so calm and self-possessed that the ravaging effect of this news was even more stark. Finally came the moment she accepted it, and without any more warning than a sudden quiver of her lip, she burst into a storm of weeping. He touched her shoulder, and when she didn't pull away, he took her in his arms and let her cry it out against his shoulder.

The storm passed in moments, and the anger came back. She pounded her fists on his chest and said, "I could just _kill_ him!"

"Hiko?"

"Yes!" She leaned on him, talking into his chest. "This is his fault. He should never have let Kenshin leave him. He could have stopped him, but he had too much pride." She hiccuped on another sob. "Oh, Toshiro, I knew the result would be bad, but I never dreamed it would be this bad." Then she was angry again. _"Pride!_ What does that mean when placed against that boy's soul? Nothing!" She pushed away to start pacing again. "This is on his head. He's never going to admit it, but it is. He failed Kenshin. His precious Hiten Mitsurugi failed Kenshin, right when he needed it most." She stopped, quivering, hands fisted. After a long moment, she looked at him again. "I'm trying to picture it," she said quietly. "Maybe if I could, I could believe it. Because I don't believe it. It just doesn't seem real. It's not possible. My head tells me that Seijuro can't be wrong, and in my heart, I know it's true. But I can't picture it. I can't see Kenshin's face when I think of those assassinations. I just can't see it."

In all his trips to Kyoto, Toshiro had seen Kenshin only once. Kenshin hadn't seen him, but even if he had, Toshiro wasn't sure he would have been recognized, so distant and blank had Kenshin's eyes been. Because of that peculiar blankness, he had never mentioned the incident to Hikaru. Now that he understood, he was glad he hadn't. He said, "Perhaps that's for the best. He's become someone else now, someone you don't know."

She held up a hand, palm out, as if trying to protect herself from his words. Then the hand fell. "Will he ever come back? Will he ever be the same?"

He wished with every bit of his heart that he could give her the answer she wanted. But he wouldn't lie to her. "No, love. He won't ever be the same. But don't look like that. He's strong. His spirit is strong. When all this is done, he may go back to his master and learn the principles properly."

"That may be worse. Then he'll know just wrong it is, what he's doing. And that may hurt him beyond bearing."

"Yes, but understanding is the beginning of wisdom."

"Stop that. You sound like _him."_

Knowing who she meant, he shut up.

A line appeared between her brows. "How could this have happened? There has to be a reason. Kenshin wouldn't just alter his entire character overnight for nothing. Is he avenging someone or something? Is that it?"

He could see that would be an explanation she could almost accept. But again he couldn't lie to her. "I don't know." That was the truth, even if not all of it.

However, Hiko was right in saying she was intelligent. The line between her brows deepened. "The men who have been dying – they are all opponents of the Revolution. Of course. But Kenshin's a young man still. He wouldn't know who the key men were. Someone is pointing him. Someone is telling him, 'That man is evil. Go, use your skills, and slay him.' Yes." She put her knuckles to her lips. "Someone is saying to him, 'This is for the good of the Revolution. This is blood shed in a good cause, the most holy cause, to save others from suffering. Go out and do what you do best, for the benefit of all.' That's what's happening to him, Toshiro. That's the only way it could be happening." She spun to face him, eyes narrowing. "Katsura. Kogoro Katsura. He's the one who's doing it, isn't he?"

He'd never suspected his gentle wife could speak so venomously. Hiko had indeed given him good advice. "Hikaru..."

"Is that true, or isn't it? Katsura took him from the ranks. He was supposed to have some kind of special duty. We thought he'd be some kind of bodyguard. Well, I suppose that's correct," she snarled, "if you consider it wise to kill your enemies before they can begin to threaten you. Preemptive protection." Changing moods yet again, she put her fingers to her temples and said plaintively, "It makes no sense. The man's reputation is not like this. He's supposed to be a good man, a man of diplomacy and peace. He even put aside his sword." Her hands dropped, and the venom returned to her voice. "Of course he did. He could afford to. He has a new and better sword now. He can keep his hands clean, and still reach out and slay his enemies. With precision. How can that man live with himself, to take such vile advantage of a boy? How can he rise and face the sun each day? How can he pray to his ancestors with this in his heart?"

"Men have done worse," he said.

The tears came back, silent this time. "I know. But not to Kenshin. Not to my boy."

He reached for her, but she pushed him away. "We have to do something. We have to get Kenshin away from that man."

"Hikaru, it's far too late for that."

"It's not."

"It is. He's killed at least fifty men already. Probably more."

"Fifty?" she whispered. "That's not possible."

His heart was breaking for her. "You mustn't blame him."

"I don't! I would never blame him. I blame Seijuro. And _Katsura._ Katsura makes Seijuro seem spotless in comparison. Seijuro at least was trying to forge a weapon for good. Katsura has poisoned the soul of a brave boy with more goodness than he could possibly imagine, and for his own personal gain. That's beyond despicable. The man should be publically crucified." Then, "Oh," she said suddenly, blankly, in yet another swift change of mood.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered something Seijuro says – that use of the Hiten Mitsurugi style guarantees victory to whatever side it chooses."

"That always seemed a bit arrogant to me."

"But this might be what he meant. I hope so."

"I'm not following you."

"Don't you see? Kenshin must be doing this dreadful thing because he believes in the ideals of the Revolution. Believes in them with all his heart. At least, if he lives through this, he will have won. It won't have been in vain." She put her fingertips on his lips before he could speak. "I know what you're going to say. We will just be changing one form of corrupt government for another. And some day, he will have to face that. Yet we both believe some good may come of all this. Change was coming anyway, but with the shogunate deposed, it can come more peacefully and easily, and with a chance for our lives to be better. So at least he will have that comfort." She hugged herself. "I only hope it will be enough." Her attention came back to him, and she looked up at him with an expression he knew well. "Do you ever see him?"

He couldn't remember ever lying to his wife before. But with Kenshin's face in his mind, as he'd last seen it, he did so now without the smallest hesitation. "No, love. Never."

She believed him. "If you ever do see him, could you at least ask him if he wants to come here? Tell him it's a break, a rest that's due him. Then, when he's here, maybe I can convince him to stay."

Again Toshiro struggled between the truth and a lie. The truth was, not even for Hikaru would he invite Kenshin into his home now. There was so much blood on the boy's hands, he would have to bring in a priest and purify the house afterward. Nor did he want to harbor an assassin, even if that assassin was the boy he'd once considered adopting for his own. But he couldn't bring himself to deny her outright. "I don't know, Hikaru. It could be dangerous for everyone else here."

"Then what about the house in town? I could stay with him there."

"Absolutely not!" he barked, startling both of them. "I'm sorry," he said at once. "But the very thought of you in Kyoto now... it's unacceptable. No."

"All right. It would be better for him to come here anyway. Toshiro? If you see him, will you ask him? We can keep it a secret, I know we can, and then there will be no danger."

_If I see the boy I once knew, I will ask him. But the man I saw a month ago was not the boy I knew. To him, I don't think I can say anything._ "If I see Kenshin," he said, his heart heavier for deceiving her, "I will do it. But you must know my chances of meeting him are slim, and even if I do, it is doubtful that he'll want to leave his mission."

She nodded, accepting. "Ask anyway. Tell him I love him and want him with us, and that nothing he's done will ever change that. Not ever, no matter what."

For a moment, his guilt hurt him. His nature wasn't as forgiving as hers. But he reminded himself that she hadn't been to the city to see what the fighting had made of it. And he was responsible for more than thirty other people, among whom he had no intention of planting an assassin, even at Hikaru's request. "If I can get him to listen, I will." Remembering Kenshin's eyes, he knew that was a promise he would never have to keep. He felt even worse when his words got a wavering smile from her. _It seems she's right, and I'm meant to offer hope,_ he thought, _even when I don't feel it._

Her smile vanished abruptly, but she wasn't looking at him now. She had something else in her mind. "If I ever talk to Seijuro Hiko again," she muttered, "he is not going to like it."

Never had he been so pleased to take Hiko's advice as now, when he didn't step in and try to make Hikaru more reasonable. Whatever skin she was going to verbally peel from the man, he could spare it and well deserved to lose it.

Then she said something to alarm him. "As for Katsura... I'll have to give that some thought. He has weaknesses, and I know some of those around him. I can..."

"Stop. Don't say any more. Don't even think it."

"Why?"

"First, you're plotting revenge. That isn't like you."

"I was thinking of it as justice."

"If justice were to be served to all involved – because Katsura has not acted alone, I'm sure – then where would that leave Kenshin?"

Her eyes widened. "Surely the gods wouldn't punish a boy for being misled."

"Kenshin is fifteen now. He's a man. His decisions, no matter how influenced and misguided, were still his own. The consequences will be, as well."

"You say that as if you think he deserves such a fate." She looked bruised, as if he'd slapped her.

He folded her in his arms, unwilling to see that expression. "I'm sorry. Of course he doesn't! That's not what I was thinking. But you must not try to take revenge on Katsura, not even in the smallest, most petty of ways. If you do, you will draw attention here. And Hiko says that Kenshin is not the only assassin who does Katsura's will."

She shivered, and he held her more closely. She said, "I don't know why so many of our legends celebrate war. It eats the lives of our best and strongest men, takes our boys from our very arms, and turns ideals to blood and decent men into devils." Then she looked up at him, and her expression changed again. "Look at you. You're exhausted. My poor darling, Seijuro is off hiding somewhere and has left you to bear all this with me."

"He did offer to tell you," he conceded.

"He should have. This is all his fault, directly or indirectly."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his mouth. "He can't be blamed for the Revolution, love."

"Everything but that. Come back to the house now. I'll get you a bath and find something for you to eat."

He sighed. "You don't have to fuss over me."

"Yes, I do. I have to do _something_. I can't think. If I stop to think, I'll break like a flawed pot in the kiln."

He understood. She wasn't made for holding anger, so that refuge from her grief was already gone. Now she would hide by caring for him. When the chores were done and all was quiet, he knew he was going to be in for a rough night. "All right, then, if you put it like that," he said, finding a smile. He put two fingers on her lips. "Just remember, love, this is only between us. Don't speak of it, and don't even speak disparagingly of Katsura. No one else knows who this Manslayer is. It will be better for Kenshin if no one ever finds out."

That, he knew, would be the one thing to keep her silent. "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm good at keeping secrets." Then she added viciously, "But neither of those two men had better come visiting while I'm cleaning fish!"

Maybe her anger wasn't completely gone. Content that Katsura would never visit and that Hiko, if he did, could handle an angry woman with a fileting knife, he let her lead him back to the house.


	4. Change, part 1

This is the first of two chapters which will end this series of stories and finally bring Hiko and Hikaru back together again, this time for good.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Hikaru had done the best she could with the room. She kept it spotlessly clean, doing most of the work herself to spare Toshiro the disturbance of many different faces around him. She brought fresh flowers and greenery every day, plants that filled the air with fragrance as well as pleased the eye, and she placed them in the best of the new bowls and vases from the shop. She had rearranged the house so that from this room, even from his bed, Toshiro could see the garden, where spring had brought forth the bursts of cherry and plum blossoms, and he could also see the back of the workrooms and shop, where the artists bustled back and forth. She limited visitors, maintaining a careful balance so that her husband would be neither bored nor fatigued. She arranged screens to keep the chill spring breeze from him without shutting out the brightening sun. She worked hard without ever losing her appearance of serenity, at least not when Toshiro might see. Her life had contracted to a small place and time, where, despite her will and all her effort, her husband was dying.

She was only beginning to absorb the truth of it now, after so many weeks. He'd had a high fever, but she knew what to do about those, and she'd nursed him well. The fever broke, and except for being weak, he seemed well. But he remained weak, and grew weaker and thinner with every day, until finally, pale and gaunt, he was unable to rise at all. A wasting disease, the doctors called it, and could offer no cure. She'd handled the doctors, too, bringing in the best, and then the priests, anyone who offered her hope. But as her newly planted cherry trees bloomed, her heart accepted. She couldn't keep him with her. She could only make his last days as pleasant as possible.

He was not in pain. That was a blessing. His appetite was meager, but she was still able to coax him to eat delicacies she had prepared herself. He slept most of the day, but when he was awake, he knew her and could speak, weakly, but sounding completely himself. He was still the master of his home, and he would be until the day he chose to leave it for good. But that day was approaching fast. She knew, and she feared that he did, too.

In those rare moments when she was alone, she sometimes went to the altar in the garden and prayed for the patience not to curse the fate cruel enough to take him just when his life was once again whole and right. The war was over, and Toshiro had brought them all safely through it. They'd been back at the house in Kyoto less than a year. The house, shop and workrooms were fully repaired. The gardens were beginning to take shape again, and the kilns were finally being used to capacity. The hard work was finished, and now there was nothing for them to do but learn what day-to-day life would be like in this shaky peace and this new Meiji era. Toshiro had ideas for the future of Kimiyama Ceramics, including the possibility of trade with the Westerners eventually. It wasn't _fair _that he should die before being able to enjoy all the blessings he'd worked so hard to give them. But she took those thoughts only to the altar and to her unknown ancestors. The rest of the time she kept up the illusion of hope, for Toshiro's sake and for everyone else as well.

Still, Toshiro's last day took her by surprise, because he seemed better. When she brought him his breakfast, he was already awake and propped up on his pillows, and his eyes were bright and smiling. He teased her about fussing over him when she insisted on feeding him, to be sure that he ate. As she poured tea, he said, "I had a dream, Hikaru. I dreamed about my grandfather."

Until this illness, he'd almost never dreamed, and his grandfather had died when he was a boy. She stared at him. "What did he say to you?"

"Not a thing. We were fishing, and I was complaining because I couldn't catch anything, and he just smiled at me. It was a good dream, though, and very clear."

Keeping her face and hands calm with an effort, she said, "It is always good fortune to dream of a smiling ancestor."

"That's what I think," he said cheerfully, and began to ask her questions about the shop. Later that morning, he sent for Tomiji Watanabe and spent nearly two hours talking business and art with him. Tomiji had been Toshiro's favorite apprentice and was now a master, but instead of going off on his own, he had stayed with them and was in charge of many of the operations of the shop. Toshiro looked on him as a partner and almost as a son. Tomiji loved Toshiro equally and would never do anything to harm him, so Hikaru didn't concern herself about the length of their meeting, trusting Tomiji to end it if Toshiro showed signs of being tired.

When they'd finished, Tomiji found her in the garden, and by the look on his face and the depth of his bow to her, she knew something important had been decided. She set aside her spade. "What is it?"

He kept his eyes lowered and his head bent, and he all but stuttered when he spoke. "Hikaru-san... My master, Toshiro-san, he says..."

She suspected she knew what he was going to say. "He says?"

The dark eyes lifted to hers, humble and even a little frightened. "He says he is leaving me half interest in Kimiyama Ceramics, and that I am to run the company when he is gone. Hikaru-san, I did not ask for this! I did not think it, or even dream it!"

She put out a consoling hand. "Don't be afraid, Tomiji. I know all about it. My husband and I discussed it, long ago, during the war. I know that you and I can deal well together. The shop and kilns should be your realm. I think it is right and fitting. Both Toshiro and I trust you to carry on the Kimiyama name with honor." Overwhelmed, he bowed again, but when he would have babbled more gratitude, she sent him to the shop. "Naturally no one is to know until the day comes..."

"And may that be many years!"

"Yes," she sighed. "But you should still go back to the shop thinking about how you will eventually take on your new responsibilities, and where you would like your offices. It doesn't trouble you that I would keep the house?"

"No, Hikaru-san! Of course not!"

With a little more difficulty, she got him going in the right direction. Then the smile faded from her face and she whirled and walked back to the house, to her husband's room. "Toshiro? I just spoke to Tomiji."

He smiled up at her, cheerful but wan. "Was he coherent? He wasn't when he left."

She knelt beside him and took his hand. His fingers were cold. "No. Yes, almost. But..." She couldn't say it.

Toshiro only smiled again, but this time with a fond sadness. "I know as well as you do what my dream probably meant, love. I don't have much time left to settle things. I thought it wise to begin."

The strain of the past weeks from the effort to keep things walled away suddenly caught up with her, and even biting her lip didn't keep it from quivering, or keep the tears from overflowing. _"Toshiro."_

"You don't want me to leave you," he observed.

"No, of course I don't!"

"I was never entirely sure. No, I was," he amended, "I never truly doubted you. Yet in a tiny place in my mind, I sometimes wondered."

She took his hand and laid her cheek on it. "How can you say such a thing? Let me prove it to you. Don't leave me."

"I don't think I have a choice. But I'll join my grandfather with a lighter heart, knowing you'll remember me."

"Everyone who has ever known you will remember you. And grieve for you. But me most of all."

"I don't want you to grieve," he said. Then the smile returned. "Well, not for too long, anyway." The fingers under her cheek opened and stroked her skin. "I don't think I have to worry about you. He'll take care of you."

Shocked, she realized he meant Seijuro, and that she hadn't thought of Seijuro once since Toshiro had become ill. "You have already given me everything I will ever need," she protested.

"If you think so, you don't know yourself very well. But," he sighed, "all is good. I know you'll treat Tomiji kindly."

"Stop. Please stop."

"My love, your tendency to hide from things that upset you has always amused me, but you can't do that today. We have things to talk about, practical things, and my strength is leaving me. For my sake, now, be calm and we'll just talk."

With a painful effort, she drew herself together, sinking into her geisha-trained control like slipping on another kimono. The tears dried. Still holding his hand, but now resting it in her lap, she obeyed him, helping him with brisk efficiency to finish putting his affairs in order.

As usual, he was right. That night, while she slept unknowing beside him, Toshiro slipped away to join his ancestors, so quietly and peacefully that she never even wakened to witness it.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

With his death, Toshiro's family relented in their enmity toward him. They still wished to have nothing to do with Hikaru, which suited her completely, but they agreed to inter his ashes in the family burial ground. Hikaru's feelings were mixed. She felt the honor, but she didn't want to send Toshiro's protective spirit away from the home he'd made for himself. In the end, however, she allowed it, because she knew that's what Toshiro would have wanted. For herself and the house, she had a stone made for him and created an altar in the garden, in the place he'd loved best, near the bench which looked onto the workrooms, beside the pond from which Kenshin had once pulled a giant koi. Sitting there, she felt less alone, and talked to him, and sometimes she even thought she heard him answer. Certainly she could always make wiser decisions after consulting with his spirit there.

And there were so many decisions to make. Despite all he had done, Toshiro couldn't smooth everything over. Adjustments had to be made, and until Tomiji Watanabe was firmly established as the new head of Kimiyama Ceramics, most disagreements and all decisions were deferred to her. She wanted peace, and she got responsibility. Yet, despite all the people around her, she was somehow still alone. Not even when Fujio Murasaki had died, and she'd been forced from her home altogether, had she felt so alone.

She should not have been surprised, on a day when she sat on the bench by the altar, trailing her fingers in the water and missing Toshiro, remembering Kenshin, and generally feeling sorry for herself, that she felt a presence and looked up to see Seijuro Hiko standing there watching her.

He looked hopelessly out of place in her garden. He was so huge that even the stones of the garden seemed frail in comparison, with his head at the level of the cherry tree branches and his white cloak making him seem like a single block of granite until the breeze fluttered the edge. He was scowling, his brows drawn down, and against his stern face, the contrast of the delicate petals that had blown onto his shoulders and into his hair was almost ludicrous.

She was so glad to see him, she didn't care about his expression. She didn't even think. She simply lifted her arms and let him pull her into his. Against his chest, she went limp and rested everything on him, closing her eyes and imagining for a little while that she had disappeared.

Finally, she took a deep breath and sighed.

He said, "It was a very good funeral."

Somehow, he always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear, no matter how odd it was. She pulled away from him and found her strength and a smile. "Were you there? I didn't see you."

"I didn't want to be seen. But yes, I was there. He was a good man, and I liked him."

"He said you would take care of me. I don't think he ever liked you, Seijuro, but he trusted you. Will you sit and talk with me a while?"

He shook his head. "I'm not going to stay, not unless you need me."

She didn't, oddly enough. Not now that she'd seen him. But his company braced her, and she wanted it. "Why not?"

"It hasn't even been two weeks. That's far too soon for me to be here. You would know that, if you were thinking."

"Yes," she admitted.

He touched her face, ran a thumb along one cheekbone. "You are grieving." It was an observation, without the least trace of tenderness. Another woman might have been offended, but she knew him. And she could still feel the gentle touch of his hand. He went on in the same dispassionate tone, "I don't want to interfere with that. But I don't intend to hover here like some lovesick teenager, either. If you need me, send for me. You know you can, whenever you want, for whatever reason. Otherwise, you know where you can find me when you're ready."

She took a step backward, away from him, because that was what he wanted. "You are right, Seijuro, of course. When I see you again, I will have taken all the time I need."

He nodded and said, "Be well." Then he turned on his heel and left.


	5. Change, part 2

This was a difficult scene to write, although not because of anything particular in it. As I think most writers know, characters can take over a story and do it their own way, and neither Hiko nor Hikaru seemed to want me to tell anyone about this. I'm doing it anyway.

This is the last story in this series. With my next one, finally, I'll be in the time of the series, specifically the Kyoto Arc.

Again, to my reviewers and readers ~ thanks, all of you. Any writer can write without an audience and without feedback, but that's a depressing thing. Y'all have made my creation of Hikaru's stories a true joy.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

When he told Hikaru to take her time and to come to him when she was ready, Seijuro Hiko assumed it would be a matter of weeks. Perhaps a couple of months, at most.

Six months later, he was still waiting.

In all that time, although he kept careful track of her, he didn't see her except at a distance, and he didn't speak with her at all. She never sent for him or asked for his help. She went on with her life, and if sometimes she seemed so tired and pale that sunlight might show through her, like a kimono too often worn, her back stayed straight and her chin high. Her people from the ceramics shop continued to obey and respect her. Watanabe finally grew up and started to become a leader, and Hiko sometimes heard him compared to Kimiyama. As the spring passed and then the summer, Hikaru's bloom came back, as did her joy in life and in her gardens. But still she didn't come to him.

As a matter of principle, he purposely didn't change his own life any more than he absolutely had to. His world was not dependent on a mere woman. He stayed busy, often not thinking of her for days.

Having Kenshin back would have made the time go more easily. He'd hoped that, with the end of the war, the boy would return and finally finish his training. But Kenshin had disappeared, and the only word Hiko had of him consisted of insubstantial rumors, most of which were certainly false. By the time of Kimiyama's death, he'd accepted that Kenshin had chosen his own path, and it was not the path of the Hiten Mitsurugi. That disappointment bit deep. He spent many meditative hours going over everything he'd done, searching his memory, trying to find his errors. But there was no way to tell if he'd done this differently, or that, or the other, it would have changed anything. Nothing short of a miracle would change Kenshin's basic nature, and the boy was stubborn. If he were going to come back at all, he would already have done it.

So Hiko watched for a possible new apprentice. Watched, but did not search for one.

The first cold nights of autumn came, and on a full moon, he spent several days hunting down and systematically slaying a pack of government agents, policemen, who thought their privilege to carry a sword in this new era meant that they also had the right to terrorize and sack a small village. His work done, he spent the last night with a friend and arrived home at midday. At the edge of the clearing, however, he stopped abruptly. Smoke was gently pluming over his roof. He listened, and after a moment he heard what he hoped. A woman's voice, softly humming, as Hikaru did when her hands were occupied with cooking or gardening.

For a moment he felt as if his heart was going to leap from his chest. Happiness was something he'd found only with her, and since he wasn't accustomed to it, when it struck him, it was often painful. He wanted to race to the house and tear open the door. But there his imagination stopped, and he gave a snort of self-deprecating laughter. He could clearly see the look he'd get if he grabbed her as roughly and fiercely as he desired. A winter bath in the river would have nothing on it. Besides, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing how much he'd been wanting her to return. He stood right where he was until he was calm enough to greet her as if he saw her every day.

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Hiko would have been gratified, if not surprised, to know that he had rarely been out of Hikaru's thoughts during the months after Toshiro's funeral. She desperately wanted to be with him, but that very desperation kept her away. She still felt keenly the guilt over never having loved Toshiro as much as he had loved her. She had worked hard to be a good wife, in her heart as well as in her daily actions, and she had cared for him more deeply than any other person since her mother. But she could not – and would not – surrender even to Toshiro the part of her that belonged forever to Seijuro. Because she had compromised her honor and her happiness, and taken advantage of a good and worthy man, she was adamant that she would only reunite with Seijuro when her heart felt free of all obligations to Toshiro's memory.

Nights were the worst. During the day she had so many things to keep her busy that she didn't have to think unless she wished to, but at night, all she could do was remember and worry. She wasn't accustomed to sleeping alone, and she would lay awake, sometimes for hours, chasing away memories of being with Seijuro, only to have them replaced by memories of Toshiro or by the concerns of the day. She also thought about Kenshin, sometimes as he'd been as a child, when he'd curled up against her to sleep, but more often as she'd last seen him, a strong, straight young man with a spirit as fiery as his hair, almost too big to be contained in his small body, but always with that special sweetness in his eyes when they looked up into hers.

She still didn't know what had become of him, despite everything she and Bunto had tried. There were so many rumors, it was impossible to sort the true from the false, and since the majority of them said the Battousai was dead, she stopped believing in any, preferring to wait for facts. But facts were not coming to them. The Battousai had fought during the last years of the war as a soldier rather than as an assassin, and with a chillingly savage effectiveness – that, Bunto had easily discovered. But once the shogunate had been toppled, he'd disappeared into legend. She sometimes wondered if the child she'd once cherished existed at all, anywhere, except in her memory. She still continued to search for him, however, and alone at night, her frustration and fears were among the many things that kept her wakeful.

However, eventually new routines replaced the old and became familiar. She rearranged the house several times, until at last she no longer felt Toshiro in every place she touched. She grew accustomed to seeing Tomiji running the shop. When she visited Toshiro's stone in the garden, she felt nothing but a sense of peace. She reluctantly accepted that she might never discover the truth about Kenshin. Gradually her nights became easy, troubled by nothing more than a day's normal cares. Then one night, before going to bed, she stepped out into the garden in the light of a beautiful full moon, thought about Seijuro as she often did, and realized that the thought came to her as a want for him, pure and sharp and keen, unmixed with any other emotion. She laid a hand on Toshiro's stone, thanking him for setting her free, and then sat in the garden for a little time longer, dreaming.

She woke with the yearning for Seijuro still sharp, and sprang from her bed more readily than usual. But she wasn't in a hurry. On the contrary, she spent a great deal of time over her hair, her face, her jewelry, her scent, and her clothing. She kept everything simple, as he preferred, but within those limits she made herself as perfect as she possibly could. She informed her household she would be gone a few days and then went up the mountain, all the way trying to picture what he would be like, what she would say, what he would say.

Naturally, he confounded her. He wasn't there. The cottage was empty, the fire cold. With an exasperated little mew, she folded her parasol, set it aside, and studied the house, trying to decide how she wanted to be when he returned and found her here. It was a paltry stage to work with, this cottage, but at least she didn't have to clean it first. He was the neatest man she knew. Choosing a place to sit, she arranged herself prettily, but she quickly grew tired of waiting. If he were gone on one of his hunting trips, and she had to wait here long for him, alone, she was going to make him pay dearly. In the meantime, she made herself some tea. The familiar ritual soothed her nerves, and she forgot about worrying and listening for him. Perhaps because she did, she felt his presence before she saw him. She wasn't sure. She only knew that when she turned, holding the tea tray, and saw him there, she wasn't startled.

But he still took her breath away. Normally she felt a friend's comfort with him, and since she'd married Toshiro, that was all she'd allowed herself. But often in their younger years he would do something or stand a certain way, and unknowingly remind her of just how deep her passion for him ran within her. As he was doing now. He was in the open doorway, leaning casually on the jamb, his arms folded on his chest and one ankle crossed over the other. His boots were dusty and his clothes wrinkled, so he must have just returned from a trip, and his hair had gotten so long that the bangs almost obscured his face. Behind them, his expression was inscrutable, even frowning. But his eyes weren't. She was sure he was unaware of it, but the look in his eyes was one she hadn't seen since the night she first brought him into her summer house in Edo, many years ago. _Burning hunger._ That look was what stole her breath now, and she bent to set the tray on the table before she dropped it.

He said, "It took you long enough."

She smiled. He always found the right thing to say to put her back in balance. "It took me exactly as long as I needed to take. Were you in a hurry?" she added sweetly, knowing he'd cut out his own heart before he'd admit it.

"No. My patience isn't infinite, but it will bear a few months' waiting. Why are you always making tea?" he added irritably.

"I've been here for a little while, and I got thirsty."

He pushed away from the door and came into the room. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither did I, for sure, until this morning. Would you like some? Or some sake?"

"What do you think?"

She started to move past him to get the sake, then stopped and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "I'll cut your hair for you today."

"I can cut it."

"You'll hack at it and make a mess of it."

"It's just hair, Hikaru. I don't care what it looks like."

"But _I_ care."

He scowled at her. "All right. If it'll make you happy, you can cut my hair."

Keeping the triumph out of her smile, she gestured him to sit, then poured the sake and the tea. Another woman might have been nervous under his fierce stare, and might have believed him angry. Hikaru was soothed by the ritual that she knew so well, and none of his expressions frightened her. But she wasn't going to allow him to be discourteous. As she handed him the sake, she said, "I didn't complain when you sat down to my table without washing first, so the very least you can do is look pleased to be here."

"It's _my_ table."

She laughed, and laughed again when he covered a smile by taking his first sip of the sake. "Very well, it's your table, and you don't have to look happy to see me if you aren't."

"I am, but I'm not going to pander to your feminine vanity by being mawkish about it."

All that was necessary to her feminine vanity was still in his eyes. She should have known better than to have spent any time worrying about this moment. Seijuro wouldn't allow it to become awkward.

He studied her face for a moment. "It must be going better at the shop. You don't look as tired as you have been."

So he'd been watching her. Of course he had. She put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, and gave him a mock scowl. "Seijuro! What kind of remark is that? Can't you come up with a single compliment for me? I spent all morning making myself pretty for you."

"A waste of time." But even as she widened her eyes and prepared for battle, he disarmed her by adding, "You're always beautiful, whether you spend time on yourself or not. But you don't need me to remind you of that. You have a mirror."

"I have several. But I still like to know that you think so."

"You know very well that I will always think so, no matter what time or circumstances might do to that exquisite face and body of yours. I'm not so shallow that my appreciation of you stops at your skin." His expression lightened. "That should count as a compliment."

"It's a compliment to your loyalty and discernment, not to _me!_" His lips twitched, and she grinned. "I did not leave my wits back in the city. Where were you? Hunting?"

So they talked. He drank sake and she drank tea, and all the time they talked. They did not discuss his "hunt", except to mention that it had gone well, but she knew Kazuo, the friend he'd visited, and his family, and they discussed them. They talked at length about the problems in the shop and how she'd handled them, and what others might occur, and he questioned her about the new pottery and if the quality was as good as when Toshiro was in charge. They discussed the Meiji government and compared notes from each other's points of view, his from his travels, hers from her many contacts in the city. They traded ideas, and argued, over what the future might bring. Except for the awareness never far from her mind that she would not be going back to Kyoto when the sun began to fall, it might have been any other visit she'd made to the cottage in the years before the war.

Finally she got up the courage to ask about the one subject which, after Seijuro himself, was closest now to her mind and heart. She asked him about Kenshin. If anyone knew anything about the boy, it would be Seijuro, and Seijuro was her last and best chance of learning anything.

Her heart sank when he shook his head. "My ungrateful apprentice has either been too ashamed or too busy to return to his Master, even for the simple courtesy of saying goodbye."

"Goodbye? You think he's left Kyoto?"

"I know he has."

"Who told you?"

"No one. I would know if he were still somewhere close. After all, I am his Master."

She grasped at the single straw. "Do you think he'll come back? Eventually? He'll want to finish his training, won't he?"

His brows drew together. "No, I do not think he'll return. If he were going to, he would have done so already. He's taken his incomplete skills out into the world, where he will most likely disgrace the name of Hiten Mitsurugi even more than he already has. Either that, or get himself killed by one of the many enemies he made during the fighting. Are you trying to find him?" When she nodded, he said sharply, "Don't. Forget about him, Hikaru. Even if you found him, do you think you would have the Kenshin you knew? You won't. That boy is gone beyond recall. If he were standing before you now and you looked into his eyes, you wouldn't know him."

"I still want to see him. I don't care what has happened to him or what he's become. I still love him. I always will."

"It is a characteristic of yours, to be persistent in your affections."

"It's one of yours, too!" she threw back at him. "Don't you miss him? Don't you think about him, want him back?"

"I _expected_ him back. He didn't return. I've accepted that, and so should you. It's fruitless to wish for time to turn around and give you what you had before."

"That's not what I expect. I just want to help him."

He studied her a moment, then nodded. "But if he wanted help from you, he knew where to go."

"He probably doesn't think he deserves it."

"He would be right."

"As if that matters to me!"

"I can see you feel strongly about this..." he began.

But she was tired of his dispassionate tone. "Don't _you?_ You love him as much as I do, in your own way. Can you just shuffle him off into a compartment in your heart reserved for pleasant memories, and forget about him as a human being?"

"Yes, I can."

"You can try. But it won't work. Some day you'll realize that."

"You should try as well. Even if Kenshin has the ability to see past what he became during the war, and could become again what you and I wanted him to be, it is unlikely that he will live long enough to realize that potential."

"I know." She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap.

After a second, Seijuro murmured, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Not to you."

Slowly, deliberately, she separated her fingers and opened her hands, watching each individual movement. "If you think it, you should say it." She felt the hot prickle of tears behind her eyelids and firmly demanded of herself that they not fall. "Most people say he is already dead," she whispered.

"He isn't."

He sounded so _sure_. She was desperate to believe him, but she didn't dare. "You don't know that for certain. No one does."

"I'm still his Master. We haven't been separated so long that I wouldn't know if he died. He's gone a long way from us, Hikaru, but not that far. Not yet."

_Still alive._ But living with shame, and pursued by enemies, probably everywhere he turned. Yet still alive. She swallowed convulsively, but that didn't stop two tears from gathering and rolling down her cheeks.

For the entire time they had been speaking, he hadn't touched her. Now his hand slid under her arm, caught her elbow, and pulled her gently toward him. Miserable and shaking, she accepted the comfort and crawled into his lap, curling against him like a child.

He had gotten even bigger and more muscular since the last time she'd done this, and when enough of her misery had passed through her for her to realize it, she had to adjust herself to fit against him. But the heat of his body was the same, and so was the slow, strong, even _thud_ of his heart. After a few minutes, her tensions left her, simply flowed out as if she were a pitcher turned on its side, and she rubbed her cheek on his shoulder and relaxed. Somehow, with Seijuro, everything would be all right. They would find Kenshin, or she would find a way to live with the fact of not ever seeing him again. A gentle contentment settled into her, and gradually the beat of her own heart slowed to match his. She had the oddest sensation that the past fourteen years had been a dream – a pleasant dream, but not real – and that she had just now awakened to the real world. Her thoughts felt lighter, colors seemed more clear and bright. _I'm home. I'm where I belong._ She didn't know why she'd tied herself to a cantankerous, misanthropic man who could see every truth clearly except the truth of his own heart, but here, with him, was the only place where her soul felt free and powerful and welcomed. She could face anything, as long as she had Seijuro.

She realized that he was stroking her – her back, her hair, her arms – as she might stroke a frightened child, and that he'd been doing it for some time. It wasn't like him to be so restless. She caught one of his hands and twined her fingers through his. "I'm all right."

"I know." After a moment he said, "I never recognized the importance of touching someone, until recently."

She didn't lift her head from the hollow of his shoulder. "When did you realize it?"

"When I last held you, in Kyoto."

So many years ago. He would hate it if he realized how often she pitied him. She said, "It's a basic human need."

"I don't normally require the same things most humans seem to need, so sometimes I find them hard to understand. I should have let you keep Kenshin with you more often, Hikaru. You were right about that."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "You could have held him yourself."

"That's not really in my nature."

"You do it very well with me," she said, and smiled. "You could have. It just would have been difficult for you, and you would have had to recognize the necessity. Which you didn't."

Another long moment of silence passed before he said, "I doubt it would have made a difference, however."

She remembered Kenshin as she'd seen him last, only days before he'd left Seijuro. "No, he would still have gone to war. That was in him. Neither of us could have stopped him, not you with your orders or me with my pleading. You were right about that."

"But you'll still never forgive me for letting him go."

"I'll forgive you. I just won't drink sake with you."

"Stubborn woman."

She chuckled. Then she sobered again. "The question is, would more affection have changed him enough so that he would have come back, instead of just disappearing?"

"What do you think? If so, he would have come to you. He got nothing from you _but_ affection."

She shook her head, not wanting to face the fact that somehow, both of them, so opposite, yet both loving Kenshin, had still failed him. Seijuro put a thumb under her jaw and tilted it up until he could take her face between his hands. "I've said this so many times, I feel as if it is engraved on the very stones outside, but I will say it once more. Kenshin is a man, not a boy. He chose to leave us, and he had good reason for that choice, even if we don't know what that reason was. It wasn't a whim or a child's fearfulness. Give him more credit than that. Let the boy go, Hikaru. Let him be a man. Otherwise, even if he does come back, he will still forever be a stranger to you."

She nodded solemnly. She did understand what he meant.

He kissed her brow. "Now I would like it if we dispensed with the subject of Kenshin unless there is a particular reason to discuss him. It's late. We should eat something. The problems of the world are more easily solved on a full stomach."

"Let me up, and I'll cook for you."

Instead he rose, still holding her in his arms, a feat of strength that made her squeak, throw her arms around his neck, and grip tightly. He set her feet on the ground, but kept his hands on her waist. "How long can you stay?" he asked.

That look in his eyes was back. Feeling very pleased with herself, she said, "Three days. That's as long as I dare leave the shop and house untended right now. But I'll come back as often as I can, and stay as long as I can." She untangled herself from his grasp and headed for the kitchen, talking casually about food and asking what he wanted to eat.

He followed her, as she expected. When she turned an inquiring look on him, he said, "I'll help."

"Help me cook?"

"Don't look so astonished. I've done my own cooking almost all my life."

"Yes, but I fondly imagined mine was better," she said, handing him vegetables and a knife.

"It is." He kept staring at her, however, and she turned to him again and lifted a brow. He said, "I want to ask you something."

"Then ask."

"How long will this last?"

She knew what he meant. "Toshiro left me very well provided for. I don't need to marry again unless it pleases me."

"It's the pleasing you that worries me."

"I'm very well pleased right now," she said blithely, and turned away to start preparing the rice. Inside, her heart was breaking, just a little. Her wish – her hope, her dream – had always been that he would want to marry her and have her live here with him. But it seemed the Hiten Mitsurugi still stood between them. She was far too practical a woman, however, to be disappointed if a wish of hers was not granted, and she would never show that to him. "Now, either start cutting up those vegetables, or get out of my kitchen."

His arms circled her from behind and he rested his chin on her shoulder, his jaw against her cheek. She knew it for a wordless apology. Very few of her thoughts ever truly eluded him. At least he'd considered it, and with that, she would have to be contented. She found a smile from somewhere and said, "I don't hear you saying that it's your kitchen."

"You can have it," he grinned.


End file.
